The Attic

Falling to my knees in the snow

Watching soap bubbles

Float

Remembering an attic filled with old dolls

Nuns gliding through the dust motes

Holding their candles up to the darkness

I’ve always felt that I’d left something there.

Long ago.

Somewhere past the narrow stone stairway

The crumbling black stone

A corporeal memory

A sliver of my young soul

The heart’s capacitor

Locked away in a rusting lunchbox.

I had forgotten where the place was

I was a child.

I searched for it

Found it

Stood outside the gates and stared

Frozen

A vision ever foreboding and strict

The subject of a thousand deja vus

The door was chained

The windows glared out with hawk eyes  

But

I wanted to know what it was like

To fall in love

To fix a malfunctioning heart

Thinking I could find that missing piece

Thinking my heart was mechanical

Did I not study anatomy?

Cognitively I must have the understanding that the heart

Is organic in nature

And have the hope

That the heart

Shares the same plasticity as the brain

The resiliency to heal from trauma

And to grow love.

~Mochamantha

 Picture courtesy of: http://sox08.deviantart.com/art/mechanical-heart-II-285580315